


My Twisted Knife, My Sleepless Night

by GoldenWaffles



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: Angst, Comfort, Earp Spoon, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Introspection, Nicole has some unresolved PTSD, Nightmares, Season/Series 04, but literally
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:15:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26915734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoldenWaffles/pseuds/GoldenWaffles
Summary: Nicole's nightmares have always been bad, but what about after eighteen months, three weeks, and four days sleeping alone? What are they like after that? Waverly finds out, and deals with the consequences.An unabashed hurt/comfort fic. Canon compliant. Introspective, but light on plot.
Relationships: Waverly Earp/Nicole Haught
Comments: 18
Kudos: 272





	My Twisted Knife, My Sleepless Night

**Author's Note:**

> Salutations! I struggled with the title of this fic, since the working title was just "PTSD Nightmare" and the joke title was "Earp Spoon." But when in doubt, use a Taylor Swift lyric, am I right?
> 
> Anyway, this is just a little hurt/comfort scene I've been toying with on and off. I thought they kind of stopped acknowledging Nicole's lingering emotional issues pretty quickly on-screen, so I imagine some scenes like this happening in the background, out of sight. This one basically takes place sometime between Waverly's return and the mid-season finale. The exact timing isn't really important. It's just something that I think fits and that I took some comfort from writing.
> 
> I hope you enjoy it.

* * *

Waverly woke in the middle of the night to the sound of Nicole having a nightmare. She recognized the sound instantly— Nicole’s bad dreams had been their uninvited bedfellow throughout their entire relationship. She had gotten used to their familiar soundtrack. Usually, they began with tossing and turning, or at least some restless twitching, accompanied by some half-whispered words, and then whimpers or moans of distress. The worst ones ended in tears.

To Waverly’s dismay, the “worst ones” had seemed to crop up more and more as their relationship progressed, worsening with each of their near-death experiences and each pyrrhic victory— and that had been _before_ Nicole had spent eighteen months fighting monsters alone. Waverly shuddered to think what fresh horrors had wormed their way into her dreams while she and the others had been away.

Still half-asleep and operating on instinct, Waverly reached out, patting blindly at her girlfriend’s torso and making a gentle shushing sound. Usually, just that reminder that she was there was enough, and Nicole would roll towards her for a cuddle or settle back to sleep with a sigh.

So Waverly was unprepared for her to wake with a shout and scramble back so violently that she crashed to the floor, nearly upending the nightstand in the process.

“Nicole!” Waverly instinctively tried to follow, but her girlfriend’s panic was obvious. Even though she was just a shadow in the darkness, Waverly could hear her sharp, ragged breaths breaking the otherwise quiet night. “It’s just me, it’s okay. You’re okay.”

She leaned over and groped for the lamp on the nightstand, but it had apparently been knocked over by Nicole’s flight, falling out of reach.

Giving up on that plan, she instead crawled slowly and deliberately across the bed, making sure Nicole could see her intentions as she eased down to join her on the floor. The Homestead was freezing at night, and she held back a shiver as she settled on top of the duvets that now spilled down the side of the mattress.

“It’s okay, I promise. You’re okay. It’s just me,” she repeated.

“Waverly?” Nicole whispered, and Waverly’s heart broke at the confusion and uncertainty in her voice.

It seemed obvious now— Nicole had spent the past five hundred nights alone with her nightmares and alarm bells and monsters. Five hundred nights to get used to an empty bed. Five hundred nights without reassuring touches and post-nightmare hugs. No wonder her subconscious now saw any contact, however well-intentioned, as a direct threat. No wonder she had recoiled.

“Yeah, remember? I’m home now. It’s okay. It’s just me.” Waverly inched closer, more carefully now, still not touching. “I didn’t mean to scare you. You were having a nightmare.”

Nicole shook her head, both hands braced on the floor, as though trying to reground herself in reality. Her breathing sounded harsh in the still night. The faint light from the window glinted off something wet on her face, but Waverly couldn’t tell if it was sweat or tears.

“Sorry…” Nicole reached out a trembling hand towards Waverly’s face, but didn’t quite connect, her fingers curling back at the last second. Like she was afraid to check, in case she was wrong. Or maybe like she wasn’t sure she deserved the comfort.

“You don’t have anything to apologize for.” Waverly took her hand and pulled it back towards her face, slowly and gently enough for her to pull away if she wanted to. She didn’t, and when the hand found its home against her cheek, Nicole’s whole body seemed to sink down in relief, all the fight going out of her. “Better?”

For a moment, there was no response. Then, Nicole surged forward, wrapping both arms around her and pulling her in. Waverly let herself get drawn between Nicole’s legs and gathered into an almost-too-tight embrace, like a child hugging a teddy bear. Nicole’s sleeping body may have been scared by physical contact, but in the waking world, she was _starving_ for it. Eighteen months was a long time to go without. To that end, Waverly nestled as close as physics allowed, trying to find every possible point of contact between them.

Nicole’s body felt hot and damp against hers, and her heart raced like she had been running. Tucked against Nicole’s chest, Waverly could feel the thudding, frantic beat as it gradually began to slow. Heavy, ragged breaths eased into softer, deeper ones, like Nicole was trying to breathe her in. Encouraged, Waverly made quiet hushing sounds and let her fingers trail over anything within reach— an arm, a leg, her hair, her face— until one by one their trembling stilled.

“I’m okay,” Nicole said after several long minutes. Still, her grip didn’t loosen.

Waverly could sense her reluctance in the tension of her body and the desperation in her embrace. The worst of the nightmare may have faded, but she wasn’t ready to give up the comfort.

“We can stay here a little longer if you want,” Waverly offered gently, rubbing a soothing hand up and down her arm. After a moment of hesitation, Nicole nodded slightly, and dropped her head all the way down to rest on Waverly’s shoulder.

They stayed there for awhile longer, Waverly reaching up to stroke through her hair over and over in slow, tender motions.

The hair that was too long. The hair that proved how long she had been gone, how long Nicole had been suffering alone.

“Okay,” Nicole said eventually. She loosened her grip bit by bit, until Waverly could stand and help pull her to her feet.

Nicole started gathering up the blankets from where she had dragged them to the floor, trying to fix the mess she had made. Halting her, Waverly took over the task and whispered for her to lie down. She obeyed without protest.

Once Nicole was settled back on the bed, Waverly carefully retrieved the lamp and straightened the blankets, drawing them over her and smoothing out all the wrinkles. Once everything was perfect, she crawled back into place at her girlfriend’s side. Nicole was still and silent, but Waverly could see the barest glint of light giving away that her eyes were still open. She seemed calm now, but still not _relaxed_ , not really.

Nicole had spent the past eighteen… almost nineteen months trying to be the strong one, protecting the Earps’ home, taking care of a teenager with nowhere else to go, while the whole world burned around her. There had probably been times when sleep was a luxury she couldn’t afford. Or nights when the dreams were just too much for her to endure.

She must be so tired.

“Roll over,” Waverly told her. With a hesitation that smacked of reluctance, Nicole slowly rolled onto her side to face her, half a question in her eyes. “No, the other way.”

Even in the darkness, she saw Nicole’s brow furrow in confusion, but she obeyed, shifting on the bed until she was facing away from Waverly. Waverly ran a hand over her back briefly, feeling knots of rigid tension all over. That might be something for the morning’s agenda— a hot bath and a good, long massage.

In the meantime, she scooted closer, and higher up in the bed, until she could gather Nicole back against her.

It was the opposite of how this usually went, when Nicole would hold her from behind, cradling her in the warmth of her body. That kind of all-encompassing embrace always made her feel so secure when she was scared and vulnerable. She remembered dark, aching nights— after Jolene, after Mama left, after they sent Alice away— when Nicole’s sheltering arms had been the only thing that kept her in one piece.

And now she wanted to repay the favor. So she stretched herself to her full height, settled her chin on top of Nicole’s head, and held her close. Nicole was still laughably taller, but it didn’t seem to matter as much as Waverly had expected. Nicole didn’t resist. If anything, she sank back into the curve of Waverly’s body, giving herself over to the protective embrace.

“Since when are you the big spoon?” she murmured after a few seconds, and Waverly was relieved to hear a note of amusement in her voice.

It was a relief, to help. To do _anything_ that seemed to make Nicole feel better, no matter how small or how temporary.

Sometimes, Nicole seemed fine. She could smile and laugh and joke and stand tall, like everything was back to normal. But then there would be a noise from outside, or a badly phrased sentence, or some other reminder of the “eighteen months,” and it was like a flipped switch, like all her wounds splitting back open at once. It was new— and horrible— to see that pain, and the self-loathing that seemed to radiate out like a miasma.

The time alone had taken a hell of a toll on her, and no matter how strong and brave she was, nobody was strong enough to not be changed after losing so much— her girlfriend (or were they fiances now? They still hadn’t talked about that…), her best friend (or whatever Wynonna was to her), her mentor (practically her father), her job (the biggest part of her identity), even her freaking _cat_. Each blow on its own must have been gutting, and every day must have driven the knives deeper and deeper.

And she had taken all that pain and turned it inward, twisting the knives herself.

She thought she had let them all down. That she had _failed_. That she hadn’t been _enough_.

Strong enough. Brave enough. Smart enough. Good enough.

It made Waverly want to grab every blanket in the Homestead and wrap every one of them around her. It made her want to scoop her up and carry her off to a mountaintop somewhere, or a beach, far, far away from all this, and just let her rest and heal somewhere quiet and safe. She wanted to fill a room with everyone who cared about Nicole Haught’s happiness, and have them all take turns giving her hugs and words of comfort.

She just seemed so _tired_ , so ground down. So alone in her own head.

It wasn’t fair.

But Waverly could do this. If she couldn’t reach out and shrink those eighteen months, if she couldn’t lift that burden or take away that pain, at least she could do this.

At least she could hold her now, and soothe the nightmare away.

Bit by bit, Nicole softened in her grip.

Waverly kept waiting for her to say “that’s enough” or “I’m okay,” or for her to pull away or roll over to take over as big spoon, but she didn’t. And that was probably the most telling part of all.

One of Waverly’s hands slid up to find Nicole’s heart. Her big, brave, noble, open, loving heart. Which hadn’t deserved to be tested by eighteen months, three weeks, and four days alone. Which hadn’t deserved to be strained and broken. Which didn’t deserve to be plagued even in her _sleep_ by new and old traumas.

She pressed a kiss to the top of Nicole’s head and felt her sigh.

“Go back to sleep, baby. I’ve got you.”

“Should check the traps…” Nicole murmured, but it sounded sleepy and halfhearted, and she still didn’t try to escape the circle of Waverly’s arms. Almost like she didn’t _really_ want to check the traps. Almost like she wanted to be talked out of it. Waverly nuzzled down to whisper into her ear.

“Doc’s got it under control. We’d hear the gunfire if anything were wrong. Right?”

“Yeah.”

“Everything’s taken care of. All you need to do now is rest, okay?’

She felt Nicole’s hand slide over hers, holding it to her heart.

“Okay…” Her voice was heavy and just a little slurred.

“Just sleep,” Waverly whispered. “We’ll keep the dreams away.”

Nicole made a sleepy hum of acknowledgement.

“Everything’s going to be okay. You won’t be alone again.”

She thought she felt the press of Nicole’s hand against hers, but that was the only response.

“I’ll be right here when you wake up, I promise. I’ve got you. You can sleep.”

Nicole released a deep breath, something like a sigh, before falling still and silent. Within a minute, her breathing had evened out and her body had gone slack, heavy and boneless in sleep.

Waverly stayed awake longer, half to make sure the dreams didn’t return and half to worry about the love of her life’s emotional state.

She tried to imagine if the tables had been turned… if Wynonna and Nicole had been the ones to leave, and she had been the one left behind. Days crawling into weeks, weeks dragging into months… years. Alone. She thought of how heavily the time would have weighed on her. How the loneliness would have eaten her alive. How dark and empty the nights would have been.

The thought tore at her heart, and bolstered her determination to help Nicole recover from the experience. And if that meant being understanding when she needed to check on Rachel or check the traps, fine. And if it meant sometimes being the big spoon at night, great. And if it meant reminding her that she was still willing, still _dying_ to marry her and spend the rest of their lives together, then by God, that was a conversation that was going to happen, and soon.

She wouldn’t leave Nicole all alone in her own head. Not if she could help it. It might take time, and gentleness, and understanding, and maybe a lot of long, cold walks around the Homestead, but whatever it took, they would do it. They would spend the rest of their lives being _not alone_ together.

They would make enough good dreams to outnumber the bad.

“I love you, Nicole Haught,” she whispered into her love’s head, before finally giving herself over to the quiet night.


End file.
